The Sound Of Progress
by Iron Horsecock
Summary: Folly, a jet-addicted ghoul for hire down on his luck, meets Mr. Cogs, a strange gentleman on the run from dangerous people. Mr. Cogs wants to get to New Vegas, and Folly wants an adventure with a paycheck. The two brave the Wasteland, earn caps, swap stories, and get to know each other in a world two hundred years past its expiration date.
1. Chapter 1

"Look, kid, I just want my goddamn bottlecaps, alright?" I felt the skin of my face sag beneath my fingertips. "Please, alright? I know you have them. Your mother told me you'd pay me. Cough 'em up, alright?"

"What bottlecaps, mister? I'm too wittwe to have money." The ten-year-old shuffled her foot innocently. Her pockets chimed brightly and gently, as if they were full of caps. Her grin was going from 'nasty' to outright 'stranglable'.

"Yeah, alright, you little shit. That's the last fucking time-"

"You watch your fucking language!" A very angry woman moseyed over to us from behind the brick hut. "She's a little girl!"

Her stride would be menacing if not for the fact that her left leg was wooden and crudely made, not unlike that of a chair. She favored the peg heavily, and it made her angry strut more funny than scary. Otherwise, she was a spitting image of her daughter: the same chubby freckled face, the same auburn pigtails, and their coveralls looked like they were made from the same brahmin. The only difference was that the mother was about two hundred pounds and had a sawed-off lever-action shotgun slung across her back. The little one only had a thirty-eight snubnose.

"Angela! So good to see you," I lied with a deadpan. "Pay up." I nodded towards the two pack brahmins being unloaded in front of the rest stop.

"Angelica, pay the zombie, willya?" Angela spat a brownish glob on the dusty asphalt.

"But momma!" she whined. "I want a new gu-hu-hu-hun!"

"Yeah, alright, sure, and you'd fight critters and raiders with it yourself, right?" I grinned.

"Will too!" The girl whined again and stomped her little foot.

"Stop harassing my daughter!" Angela stomped too. "Or I ain't paying you jack!"

"Good luck with the raiders then. We'll see how the brat handles them, yeah?" I shrugged and felt a wet pop in my shoulder where a dislocated joint finally set itself. The two didn't even bother hiding their disgust.

"Fine!" Angelica dug into her pockets and tossed the bottlecaps onto the cracked asphalt. "I hope you choke on them! Stanky!"

"Fuck you." I smiled amicably. Well, so much for working with these two anymore. Actually, so much for working in this hamlet whatsoever. It's not like anyone needed twitchy trigger fingers for hire aside from the caravaners.

Good riddance, I say. It was high time I skipped town anyway.

They left with a harrumph. I waited until they were out of sight before I started picking up the caps and sliding them into pouches by twenty-fives. There was only one hundred seventy one out of the two hundred fifty promised to me. That little brat, I swear to fucking god.

The rest stop was set up inside a shell of the brick house by the road, with badly boarded-up windows, saggy ceiling, wan lights and questionable sorts in dark corners. At least there was booze, jet and an annoying whore of a waitress so I never actually had to talk to Angela at the bar. I spent about two hours getting my wine on. Angela was giving me the stink-eye, but I paid her no mind, for today I would fuck off elsewhere without settling my tab. Serves her right for calling me a zombie to my face. Honestly, it wasn't so bad. I had a good head of hair on account of the implants, and I didn't stink too bad, on account of my old age. I tried explaining the particulars of ghoul stinkonomy to Angelica once, but she found calling me 'stanky' too amusing to listen. Man, fuck both of them. Like mother, like chip off a block or something or other. Point is, the two deserved each other, and this squalid burg deserved the two. To lighten the mood I ordered locally brewed ultra jet. Instead of one, though, I got two.

"Heya Folly!" The waitress, Maude, sang. "Chin up, sourpuss! This from a gentleman way over there!" She pointed me towards a lonely patron. He waved at me.

"Ah, alright. I see. Thanks, Maude." I watched her bouncy behind as she strode over to another table with a bunch of tequila shots and a salt shaker, undoing her grimy blouse. A herd of very inebriated raiders livened up even more. This town needed a little more security. Too bad I was leaving.

I decided to cut to the chase and went directly towards the 'gentleman' Maude pointed at. He gave a prim smile at my approach and gestured at the second chair. His features were a little bit grating to the eye, sort of like looking at a cactus. By his looks he was thirty-ish, but his swept-back long hair was prematurely gray. A dark brown canvas jacket hung from his shoulders. I couldn't make out much else.

"Good evening, sir. How was your day?" he asked in a very pleasant baritone. I used to have a similar voice way back when.

"Fucking awful, and let's talk business. I assume the Undead Special ain't just a gift outta the kindness of your heart. What do you want?"

He balked, clearly not expecting me to be this blunt. Probably a city slicker by the looks of him. How he made it all the way here was beyond me, and, quite frankly, didn't interest me all that much.

"Well." He finally managed. "I am sorry to hear that your day was awful. I'd offer to talk later, but I'm afraid I'm in quite a hurry."

"Coulda fooled me."

"Yes, well... To business then." He adjusted his collar nervously. "After asking around I've heard that you're, pardon me, the ugliest, stinkiest, most despicable good-for-nothing sumbitch in this town."

"From the lovely Angela, no doubt."

"Yes, the very lovely barkeep and mayor herself! So I asked some more, and-"

"Weren'tcha in a hurry?" I rasped. "Skip to the job and the pay. If it pleases your royal highness."

He almost looked indignant for a moment. "The job is easy. I need to get to New Vegas for reasons of my own. I'm afraid I won't make the trip, so I need a bodyguard. The pay will be adequate, I can assure you."

"I can't count to 'adequate'. Give me a number." I twirled the reddish inhaler in my hands.

"Well, how does forty thousand caps sound?" He smiled pleasantly. His teeth were pearly white, even in this light. Too white for a wastelander.

"Oh-kay." I stood up and straightened up my shirt. "Not that it hasn't been nice, but I'ma just take the jet and go."

"Oh. I'm sorry you feel that way. Is there a problem?" He had the decency to actually fake a confused frown.

"The problem, buddy-" I leaned in closer to him "-is that you're full of shit and your offer is obviously a bait for morons. And I ain't dumb enough to bite, alright? Sayonara, hastalavista, hajimemaste, whatever." I waved at him angrily, snatched the inhalers and sauntered off before Angela had a chance to figure out my ploy. Fuck her, fuck this town, and fuck whoever this idiot was. Forty thousand bottlecaps, my ass. More like one cap, right between the eyes.

The town was a little ways from Long Fifteen, as were most of the settlements and trading posts along it between the Hub and Primm. There were all kinds of little getaways, factories, and towns both before and after the bombs fell. I could remember four places off the top of my head where I could stop and look for jobs, not too far from here, but first I'd need to retrieve some stashed gear and caps.

When you become a ghoul, eventually you stop worrying about a lot of stuff. Mainly, it's radiation, dying of old age, and having normal sex with smoothskins ever again. So instead you set your freed-up brain capacity on more abstract concepts, such as the human condition. And boy, let me tell you, the condition of most of the humans in Angeltown was pretty goddamn terrible. The place had, aside from the rest stop, only a bunch of houses, a clinic, a farm, some derelict shacks turned drug dens, and a brothel. As such, the population consisted mostly of scumbags, whores and rednecks. The raider gangs from this region of the badlands liked the town a lot, mainly because the farm produced, roasted, mashed, fermented and distilled agave. Angela, as sad as it sounds, was pretty much the most decent person living there. The next town over was a lot more welcoming trade-wise. For one, it actually had a general store, and it didn't let raiders just run around, swinging their cocks like fucking war banners. I suspected that they belonged to the same outfit I had to fight off every time Angela hired me to protect her caravan. When that merry bunch inevitably gang-rapes her annoying pre-teen daughter, maybe she'll get someone to set things straight. Hell, maybe it will be me. It will cost her dearly, though. It's not like NCR is going to lift a fucking finger for us little people unless we foot the bill for their valiant conquest. Motherfuckers.

This is exactly why I kept most of my valuable stuff in a locked safe I randomly stumbled onto in the desert outside of town a couple years back. I didn't know the combination at first, but I was so good at picking locks and cracking safes that it didn't matter. After that, it became my Angeltown stash, because I could trust the inbred tossers to be absolutely inept at opening locks, but not beneath robbing a poor-looking, but still roguishly handsome ghoul, who was the sole reason Angeltown still existed. Right now I had just what Angela paid me, an old green plaid shirt, a brown duster with some armor plates sewn in around vital bits, a shamefully unarmored hat, a brown poncho more for its "classic movie" aesthetic than practicality, a pre-war scoped five-five-six military DMR, my lovely ten gauge mare's leg as a sidearm, and, finally, assorted crap I pilfered from raiders I killed on the job earlier today. Ninety three years might seem like enough time to amass a fortune, but, I gotta be frank, I was shoddy with money, and ultra jet was expensive. The stash in the safe used to be one of many, but these days it was my only one. Try feeding a habit for a quarter of a century, see how you fare.

I was riding that cheerful train of thought when I bumped into a gleaming set of power armor that towered almost two heads above me. Now, I don't claim to be an expert, but you live as long as me and you eventually learn to distinguish between your normal everyday pedestrian Brotherhood armor and badass rare northern winterized armor, and the dude in front of me was not wearing the pedestrian kind. On top of being gleaming silver, it had an actual capital-F Fucking Fur collar and a strange flaming bird emblem stenciled across the chest. To add insult to injury, the, I assume, Paladin was sporting a scary-looking incinerator. And I somehow didn't notice that monster and walked straight into him. Classic me.

"S-sorry," I stammered.

I wasn't a coward, but damn right I was gonna be polite to a guy wearing a fucking tank. The armor's speakers gave a tinny dismissive grunt, thank god. We both went on our way.

"Wait a second," he said after a couple of steps.

"Y-yeah?" I turned to him with a nervous grin.

"I'm looking for an old acquaintance." His accent was weird. "Maybe you've seen him. Long gray hair? Sorta ugly? Straps his whole body in cloth like a burn victim?" His voice was low. It would be menacing if it wasn't so... Disinterested?

"Ahh, no, can't say I did, sorry," I lied with a smile. That guy was bad news, but being a snitch was even worse news, according to my admittedly finicky moral compass.

"Was worth a shot." He sighed and carried on. He was making his way towards the brothel, but it was only a matter of time before he discovers the stranger in the rest stop. By the looks of his weapon, when he does, I'd better be as far away from Angeltown as I can, lest I get cremated, and I absolutely refuse to be in the same pile of ash as Angela, or her little bitch of a daughter. All the more reason to get my ass in gear!

The trip to a lonely cactus plant, which marked my stash, would normally take me about half an hour. Looping around the derelict buildings to confuse potential thieves tailing me took another ten, which was about fifteen more than I cared to spend in this place. Just as I crossed the town limits marked by a spotty fence, I saw the gray-haired guy slink across the street and disappear in one of the drug dens just as the Winterized came out of the brothel. Not that it wasn't fun, but...

What's this dust cloud coming from the south?

"Hello. I see you've decided to run. If you won't accept my offer, at least let me run away with you," said a familiar calm voice from behind me.

Of course, by the first 'run' I already snatched my mare's leg out of its hip holster and had it pointed at his center of mass. He only seemed mildly concerned about that. Sure didn't stop him from finishing his spiel.

"The fuck!" I barked at him. "Don't ever sneak up on me like that, alright?!"

"I'm sorry..."

"And stop apologizing!" I slammed the shotgun back onto my hip. "Why do you want me around so much?"

"I'm- You seem capable. And look..." He lifted a large suitcase up to me and shook it. A telltale jingle-jangle-jingle of small round stamped metal objects was all I needed to hear. "I wasn't lying about the caps. Please. I need help."

His face was as flat and emotionless as if he was making an offhand comment about the weather. His plea was... unnerving. I noticed that he had canvas wraps even on his fingers. His face was the only skin he was showing. Not uncommon for the Wasteland, but combined with his voice, his hair and his face, which was just... fucking... wrong... somehow... I turned away from his patient gaze.

"There's no time," he said calmly. "We must escape. We'll discuss the terms later. Firebird's going to tear the place apart looking for me."

"Firebird, huh?" I asked, falling into a measured trot. "He a Brotherhood Paladin?"

"Former," the man replied, jogging alongside me. Another two things I did not notice until just now - his bright hazel eyes, so bright they seemed to glow, and a laser rifle with a beam splitter attachment dangling from his shoulder.

"And he's after you. What did you steal from him?"

"Well. Let's say I was the reason he was exiled from his chapter, and leave it at that, for now."

"Fine." It wasn't fine, but I wasn't about to press the issue, seeing as I was briskly jogging for my life at the moment. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Call me Mister Cogs. Everyone else does."

"Alright, Cogs. I'm Folly."

"Well, pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Folly!" We shook hands uncomfortably, without stopping.

"Say, ain't that dust cloud getting bigger and bigger?" I pointed at said cloud. He squinted at it and promptly quickened his pace. Not a good sign!

We reached the safe at the same time the cloud reached Angeltown. Whatever the hell that was, I quickly punched the combination and tugged it open to reveal... Just a little pile of caps, two empty jet inhalers, a spare shirt and a forty-four Magnum sixgun with no bullets!

"That it!?" I slapped the rusty rib of the safe. Then again, as if it would reveal a secret compartment that I knew wasn't there.

"That's... Not much." Cogs scratched his chin in my peripheral vision. "Were you expecting..."

"Yeah, I was! Goddamn, I took more off the raiders today than I had in my rainy day fund! Motherfucker!" I clutched my head, running my fingers through my hair, careful not to tug it off. "I musta sold the rest to some pusher in Angeltown! Fu-u-uck, I woulda remembered if I wasn't fucking jetted outta my skull!" My thick stupid skull!

"Well. So what now?" Cogs asked.

Okay. Breathe. It's not like this is the first time this happened. Hell, it's not even the fourth.

"Alright." I straightened up and shook sand off my pants. "Not an issue. You have that suitcase fulla caps, and I have about four hundred on me, plus some guns and valuables I looted. We're not gonna starve, but we're not gonna buy a car neither. Shit, I was hoping for at least some transportation, but we'll have to hoof it to Vegas. It's not that far. Avoiding NCR checkpoints and troops could be a problem though. Assuming I help you, which is not decided yet!"

"Or course. And I'd prefer to avoid NCR too, please, if possible. I'm somewhat..." I looked at his uneasy little smile. "Somewhat of a 'dead or alive' situation."

"You're a guy after my own heart..." I chuckled, and then I saw behind him and the heart promptly sank. "Ah fuck me."

The dust cloud was now slowly approaching us. Of course, by then it was pretty clear that it wasn't a cloud, but a dinged-up rusty Corvega with no roof and no front fender, and the cloud was just raised by its wheels. Cogs and myself were already held at a gunpoint by its three riders. One sat on the front door with his feet on the seats and a submachine gun lazily slouched in his hand, and the second was driving, and his gun was more a courtesy than a threat. I didn't know them. But when I saw the one lounging on the back seat, my face immediately melted into a smile.

"Motherlode!" I exclaimed and raised my arms in a heartfelt greeting. "Long time!"

"Ah, Charlie!" She brightened up too. "Thought yo' undead ass looked familiar! How you been, sweetie?"

She was a ghoul, same as me, and a pretty one at that, same as me again. The patched baseball cap she wore could barely contain her wild curly implanted mane, most of which she miraculously hadn't lost since the last time I saw her. Her dark boiled-looking face shifted into a frown when she looked at my unlikely companion.

"Whachu doin' with that snake? What, you two buddies now?"

"You know him, Tan-Tan?" I asked, giving Cogs' slightly perturbed expression a glance.

"Damn right I know that muthafucka! We been doing scores in New Cali, ya know how Motherlode rolls!" She rolled her eyes and flicked her wrist coyly. "Anyway, last job we did, he took the caps and split!" She eyed the suitcase still in Cogs' hand. "And this ain't enough. Where's the rest?"

Cogs suddenly blushed and muttered something, scratching the back of his neck.

"Di-in't quite catch that!" Motherlode yelled at him, rising in her seat.

"I lost it, okay!" He cried out with a pained expression. "I was running away from Firebird and he incinerated my luggage! Five thousand is all I have left!"

"You stupid muthafucka." Motherlode shook her head with a rueful smile. "I mighta just shotcha a little and letcha go, since yo shiny ass is so handsome, but this is just... Wow you's a dumbass!"

"So what exactly were you gonna pay me with?" I piped in.

"I'll admit..." Cogs sighed. "Not my proudest moment."

"Ya think?" Motherlode laughed. "What'm I gonna do wichu?.."

This is when we all heard it. The rhythmic low thumping. Like someone took a super sledge and was slamming it into the ground the sound was moving closer. There was only one thing in the vicinity that could be making that sound. A very heavy, very shiny, very winterized thing. And, to my amazement, the one-legged matron of Angeltown was sitting on his shoulder, screaming for my blood and bottlecaps. Behind him marched a small army of doped-up raiders. The shiny avant-garde would catch up to us in about a minute, give or take. Fuck me. Fu-u-u-uck me. Fuck me sideways. Fuck me.

"Folly. Listen." Cogs grabbed my shoulder and spoke very quietly and very urgently. There was actual fear in his eyes, which surprised and startled me even more than Angela's goon squad of retards. "I have merchandise that I can sell once we get to Vegas, and also a lot of invested caps. I'll pay you whatever you want. But right now we really have to go!"

I don't know what did it. Maybe it was seeing a genuine emotion on his face for the first time that day. Maybe the part about him paying me. Maybe I was just tired of protecting caravans for a pittance paid by assholes that hated me, and this looked like the first honest to God adventure in five years. Either way, I nodded and fished an inhaler out of my pocket while Motherlode and her cronies were distracted.

"Follow my lead," I said and breathed the nasty chem deep into my lungs.

When you huff ultra jet, two things usually happen, if it doesn't kill you outright. First, your perception of time... Well, it twists and distorts somehow. Depending on your disposition, it may slow down to almost a complete stop, making minutes feel like days, or drop entire hours from your memory, shrinking them to a pinprick of hyper focused thought, gone in an instant. Meanwhile, it gives you such an emotional and mental high that you feel like you can do anything, if you're so inclined. At the moment I was very much inclined. Tilted, even.

I figured, the most immediate threat was the front passenger sitting on the front door. I saw his face in very intricate detail, from his greasy cornrows to the polka dot of dirty pores. He noticed my manic grin and my hand slipping onto my shotgun, but he just wasn't fast enough to compete with a jetter and, more importantly, a marksman with eighty years of experience on him. I savored the fear on his face for a fraction of an eyeblink before pulling the trigger and turning his head into googly-eyed puff pastry, hopping up the bonnet in one smooth motion. There was a special hook on my holster, in which I could brace the barrel of my shotgun and rack the lever one-handed, so I did that, taking less than a second. Puff Pastry's body seized up. He was probably going to fall out of the car on his own cadaverous volition, but I decided to encourage him by shoving his chest with the freshly-cocked gun.

Cogs, to my surprise, wasn't much slower than me. The reason that the driver wasn't opening up on me with his own SMG was because my silver-haired now-companion leapt onto the bonnet after me and, in one hearty one-handed arc, lobbed the driver way up in the air and out of the car. I laughed, which might have sounded like a chainsaw on metal to any onlookers. The former driver fell out of the air screaming and landed upside-down with an audible crunch, his scream cut short. Should have worn a seatbelt!

"Consider your shit jacked!" I screamed, holstered my shotgun and grabbed Motherlode by the collar. "No hard feelings, Tan-Tan!"

I felt Cogs' hand help me, effortlessly tossing her out of the back seat and onto the ground. The bastard was surprisingly strong!

"It was a pleasure, sweetheart!" She yelled at me from below. Cogs plopped his suitcase at the seat and it burst open, letting me feast my eyes on hundreds of caps.

"Oh, absolutely! It was so nice to see ya! When this is all over, we'll gather for drinks, yeah?"

"Sure, honey. Assumin' we both survive this. Bidness, ya get it!" She smiled and waved.

"I do, Tan-Tan! Toodles!"

" **MISTER COGS!** " Firebird bellowed, with the helmet's speakers amplifying the sound. Angela slid down and took cover behind his leg, taking aim at me still standing on the car. " **STEP AWAY FROM THE VEHICLE!** "

Cogs was standing on the driver's seat with his laser rifle pointed at the bird, but I could see in his eyes that his heart wasn't in it. I could understand history, especially considering I didn't shoot Motherlode just now. I took his shoulder and shoved him down onto the driver's seat.

"Why don't you fuck off?!" I yelled, snatching the DMR from my back and promptly sending a volley of bullets towards the armored chest from the hip.

" **NOT IMPRESSED!** " His armor didn't even show a dent. He reared up and fired his incinerator at a wide arc.

"Floor it!" I yelled downwards, watching the globs of gelatinous volatile substance soar right at the car.

Right at the motherfucking suitcase chock full of my well-earned motherfucking bottlecaps!

The old Corvega's nuclear engine sneezed in displeasure and the car launched in the general direction of the hell away from here, blowing a cloud of dust toward our pursuers. Moments before that, the fireball plopped onto the bed of junk money, soaking the entire load in burning flamer fuel. Soon enough, it would start to consume the car and us with it.

"Toss it!" Cogs yelled, trying to outshout the wind.

"Say what now?!" I asked, scrambling to put the fire out or save at least a handful.

"Toss it! It's just caps! And they're all ruined anyway! I will pay you a lot more when we get to New Vegas!"

"Just caps!? Do you know how much-"

"Do you want to fucking die, Folly?!" He bristled, giving me a livid look. "Once the fire reaches the upholstery, we're dead! This car is a piece of crap and it's two strong farts away from exploding! The caps are melted! Toss the suitcase, now!"

"I'll tear Firebird apart..." I heaved the thing, burning my fingers. It rolled around in the sand, caps melting into worthless slag and spilling onto the ground. "Okay, it's done, alright?" I sat down on the passenger seat with a huff. I was already feeling the high wearing off.

"Well. Now." Cogs inhaled deeply. "I apologize for my outburst. I simply don't want to die."

"Yeah, I get it." I slumped. "Still, thousands of caps..."

The car shuddered. There came a yelp from the engine. It probably wasn't supposed to do that.

"Don't worry about it. As I said, I have investments in Vegas. They'll pay me when I get there." He looked at me with a small smile. "I lied to Motherlode. I didn't lose the money. I sent it ahead. It's already arrived."

"Huh." My body felt heavy. I took the mare's leg and slid a shell into the tube just in case. "Invested where?"

"The Followers of the Apocalypse. I have business with them. Profitable business." He turned his attention back onto the road, or, the desert, I suppose. "So where do we go now? It shouldn't be too long a ride to Vegas if we take the Interstate Fifteen."

"No. That's the opposite of what we should do," I said, tiredly. There we go. A high always means a low. After kicking my body into high gear, I couldn't bring myself to even speak loud enough. Fucking amphetamine fucking fuck. "You should've mentioned that Motherlode was chasing you."

"Does it make a difference?" Cogs asked.

"Of course it fucking does. You've worked with her, so you must know her at least a little. You know how she has a way with people and not to forget how she plans everything way in advance. She probably got half the neighboring towns working for her by now. Not to mention there are NCR troops coming into the Mojave desert to tussle with the Legion for that fucking dam." I sighed. "We're both wanted men and we can't fight that many raiders. We'll have to make a huge loop and come into the Mojave from the north."

"So what, are we supposed to wander the desert?"

"No. People always assume that The Hub, New Reno and Vegas are the only towns here. That's bullshit, alright? There are many towns here, villages, bighorner ranches. Places to rest, stock up and eat. We'll just go from one to one. Do jobs. Pillage raider camps." I leaned forward, checked our position relative to the blip of Angeltown on the horizon and pointed towards where the next town approximately was. "That-a way."

"I hope the car doesn't explode on us," Cogs muttered. Judging by the ticking and yelping sounds coming from under the hood, that was a very real possibility.

"You and me both. Listen, I gotta take a little nap after jetting all day. Wake me up when we get there, alright? Don't get us killed." I slid down in the seat, pulled my hat over my eyes and tightened the strap that has held it on my head through all the turmoil.

"I'm your employer, not your chauffeur..." was the last thing I heard before I surrendered to treacherous and uncomfortable slumber.


	2. Chapter 2

I awoke with a small start to the sound of Cogs repeatedly kicking the Corvega's wheel and muttering something angry, but surprisingly polite. Cogs must have been blowing off quite an amount of temper, because the thing shook with each "damned junker" like it was being rammed by a bighorner.

"I take it we ain't there yet?" I croaked, readjusting my hat and coat, and slithered out of the car. Damn I was groggy.

"Oh. Good morning. Or evening, I suppose." He sighed.

The hood of the car was open. Some parts were taken out, and judging by the smell of burnt plastic and faint- _Invigoration? Excitement? Tickling?_ -I felt, which could only come from slight radioactivity, the score was ' **Wasteland - One, Chryslus - Zero** '.

"That thing didn't just run out of fuel, did it?" I asked, peering at the partially disassembled engine block, as if I had any goddamn idea how it worked and what made it not work anymore.

"Well, no. The good news-" he pointed at some baked-looking thing running across the top with a wrench "-is whoever fixed this car up and got it running after the bombs wasn't an idiot. There were secondary and tertiary fail-safes that flooded the whole thing with coolant. That's the only reason we didn't blow up when the engine went into partial meltdown." He pointed at some other thing that looked as rusty as the other ones, and just as nuclear. "That said, the previous owner ran this car into the ground. No maintenance. No TLC. This is a beautiful wonder of pre-war engineering, and they treated it like... A damn brahmin!" He managed to look more outraged about the condition of the car than about the fact that he was hunted by raider gangs and Brotherhood exiles. "And us tap-dancing on it didn't help things much."

"Can you fix it?" I asked hopefully.

"I don't think so..." He shook his head ruefully. "I'd need a workshop and another car's worth of spare parts. It'd be easier to get a new one, not to mention the towing fees... This Corvega's frolicking days are done."

"Shame. How far did we manage to get anyway?"

"Well, you've been out for about a couple of hours, so, a hundred and fifty miles? Hundred seventy?" He scratched his chin, leaving a grease stain. "I was afraid that if I'd gone any faster, the drivetrain would fall from under us. There isn't exactly a highway here."

"Not bad! I think we'll make it today, give or take." I looked around the desert and spotted a hill with some large climbable-looking rocks on top of it. As good a vantage point as any. "It took me days the last time. We have a good head start."

"Well, at least there were some tools in the trunk... Never used." He sighed again.

"That's great, keep them. Hey, look, give me a moment. I need to go check where we are now and where we should be going." I pointed towards the hill. "And you should pull whatever useful parts you can from the car, since you're such a fucking expert."

"Useful?" He looked at me with an unreadable expression. Like he was asking me if it was really okay to butcher our mutual acquaintance.

"Whatever we can sell," I amended. "People here use all sorts of cobbled-together shit. Generators, bikes, cars, electrified fences, water pumps... And it all needs spare parts."

"Well..." He scratched his chin again and looked at the car, more hopeful this time. "I'll see what I can do!"

"Attaboy," I muttered and left him to it.

It felt good to stretch my legs. The hundred or so rads I soaked up napping and standing near the ruined car were enough to get me back on my toes again. I wasn't feeling quite as drained, at least, and the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other has always worked for me. Most importantly, it helped stave off boredom and psych myself into whatever the hell I was doing with my life at the moment. Step by step by step by step and you're that much closer to your destination, Charlie, just keep on walking, and there will be caps and all the happiness they bring at the end of the line. To be honest, I would probably go double-or-nothing if I ever reach that particular destination. Sitting on your ass isn't very healthy for a jerky boy. And speaking of jerky...

I rummaged through my backpack and yanked my binoculars and a paper bag with dried brahmin strips. This will have to do until we reach Rusty Plains and can have a hot meal with some cold beer and wine. Or, more likely, some critters will try to eat us and will end up our dinner instead. I had all I needed to make some mouth-watering roasted cactus side right here in the desert.

Surveying the immediate environment confirmed my rough guesstimates. We were some miles south-westish of Rusty Plains. I took the opportunity to scribble on my map with a pencil, marking the rock I was perched atop. I will call this land... This Land! No, of course I won't, that sounds stupid. But I will call it... Hm. I marked the broken Corvega with a doodle of a car and decided to dub the spot Meltdown Rock. And forever it shall be named thusly, at least by whoever copies notes off my map. I really should start a surveyor's office in Hub. Maybe I will the next time they issue an official pardon to all wanted criminals... Whenever the hell that happens.

Though I suppose it will take just one moron with a Pip-Boy to put me out of business.

There was only one pressing matter holding me up near that rock after I climbed down, a matter of a more prosaic nature. It was unfortunate, really. I noticed a long time ago that whenever I drain my bladder, I shed rads. All the isotopes just leave my body, which is not that rare with ghouls, apparently. Useful in helping me not become a glowstick, but considering how often I got into fights, I really did need that extra regeneration sometimes. Radiation had long since given up on the notion of giving me terminal cancer. Hell, some of my body already was a constantly regenerating tumor. My brain especially, I suspected, since it was responsible for getting me in ridiculous adventures such as this one.

After irrigating some of the local flora I made my way down the slope, shielding my eyes from the setting sun. Hopefully, we could make it to the town before nightfall. I didn't want to walk down some crevasse in the darkness and break my fucking neck. Vertebrae are a bitch to heal.

"How goes it?" I asked, hopping into the seat and re-shuffling gear and loot in my backpack.

I swear, the thing must be bigger on the inside than on the outside, because I can't explain how else it could fit so much junk. I- _Aha!_ -found the spare super-compact duffle bag I kept for just this kind of situations and tossed it to Cogs.

"Thanks. Honestly, it could be worse. I could fence some of it in NCR for a tidy sum. Out here in the sticks... Well, who knows? It's worth... Something."

"Good enough for me. Pack up and let's get moving."

He took some more precious minutes pulling some last bits of junk off the engine and shoving it into the bag. Then, with the last parting glance towards our deceased and butchered transport, we set off where my map and fuzzy memories said Rusty Plains would be.

"Say, Folly?" Cogs asked after about ten minutes of silence.

"Yeah?"

"I heard these cacti are mostly water. Is that true? Because I'm getting awfully thirsty."

"Oh." I turned towards him. "Why didn't ya pack some water like a, a normal person?"

"Well, I was hoping I'd be able to travel by Long Fifteen and buy some as I needed. I didn't plan for this globetrotting adventure. So can you please help me or not?"

"Fine." I almost could resist rolling my eyes. I had to admit, I was pretty parched myself.

We didn't have to make much of a detour to find some prickly pear. I showed Cogs how to harvest the fruit and the pads with my tongs, how to clean them, and how to avoid getting his fingers cactied. He seemed pretty disinterested in the last part, as if his fingers were needleproof, probably because he was in such a hurry to get hydrated. In any case, some time later we were both happily munching on the peeled succulent cactus flesh. It was a shame not to use it for some recipe or other, but we were in a hurry. Cogs proved to be a good student, smart and respectful. I had to admit, I was warming up to the idea of working with him for the foreseeable week or two.

"How diw yu nnow it waw in seawon?" Cogs asked, splattering his snack all over his chin, like the refined gentleman that he was.

"Oh, it'f awwayf in seawon." I swallowed. "The thing about the world exploding is that the soil became very fertile. With so many people and animals dying and stuff? Also there was some mutation or other? I don't know. Tanisha said she doesn't recognize this place anymore."

"Tanisha?" He wiped the cactus muck off his face, and it made me chuckle for some reason. At least he also finally wiped that Chryslus (patent pending) disgusting grease.

"Oh, Motherlode. Tanisha is her real name."

"Were you two that close?"

I turned to look at him again. His bright eyes were full of some... Childlike wonder. Like he was asking me to tell a bedtime story. Well... Why not? The guy was obviously fish out of water. What could it hurt?

"Yeah, we were. We still are, really..."

"But you fought today?" He cut me off.

"Y-yeah, but we fought for caps, not because we hate each other. Those are different. You hired me to protect you, and Motherlode recognizes that. Business is business. S'not the first time we were fighting each other. Never stopped us from gettin' a drink afterwards and..." I coughed politely. "Fuckin'."

"Amazing," he muttered.

"Yeah, it is. I guess they don't teach you Scribes about relationships?" I said with a sly wiggle of my eyebrows that could've worked better if I was looking in his direction instead of scanning the hills we were headed towards for threats.

"You guessed right." He smiled. It felt good to see him smile genuinely. The emotionless robot act was wearing pretty thin, but I could understand his raised guard in a place like Angeltown.

"Tell me all about it over dinner?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Not much to tell." He shrugged uncomfortably and stuffed his face with cactus.

"Really? After I just opened up about my intimate relationship with your former boss? After I killed a dude for you? You don't trust me?" I gasped. "You wound me, _Mister_ Cogs."

"Sowwy, Miftew Fowwy." He chewed sheepishly.

"Eh, it's alright. Maybe after I murder some more motherfuckers for ya."

"Or after you feed me some more." He looked at a cactus pad thoughtfully. "This is very good."

"You don't have much tasty stuff up north, do you?" I asked, nibbling.

"No. Grains and berries, mostly. We had a nice hydroponic garden in our bunker. Grew all the food we needed, but there was little variety. Potatoes can get very tiresome over the years..." He sighed and chewed wistfully for a while. "I grew up in a Vault, you know. We had fish tanks. What I wouldn't give to taste salmon again."

"Wow. I think you'd really like it in Boston. There's all sorts of mutated fish there. Some guy taught me how to make takoyaki."

"What's that?"

"It's octopus bits fried in balls of batter." My mouth watered from the memories. "We didn't have octopi, so we settled for a mirelurk. He was a real good cook too, even had some scavs make him a takoyaki grill out of some factory salvage. I think he programmed on the side and made a bunch of Protectron ramen cooks... Shame he didn't write a cookbook before I left that hole."

"You don't strike me as a chef, Folly." Cogs laughed.

"And you don't strike me as a moron who wouldn't pack water when travelling the desert."

"Says the junkie who jettisoned all his caps."

"Heh. Jettisoned." I laughed a little, but still kicked a small rock out of spite. Imagine being rich again.

Who woulda thunk that Cogs would be such a pleasant fellow? We spent the next couple of hours just walking and chatting, mostly about food and drink. I spent more time than is healthy bitching about how most of the East Coast was an underdeveloped shithole that shouldn't even exist. Cogs was very eager to try my cooking sometime and was almost ecstatic when I told him about the Rusty Plains microbrews. The idea of mutfruit sour ale probably gave him a bit of a woodie. He struck me as eager for experiences. He'd make a pretty well-adjusted ghoul, all things considered.

It was getting pretty dark when I first saw the lights of Rusty Plains. The town was surrounded by a sturdy fence with some barbed wire on top of it and dim lights leading to the wide opened gate. It felt good to be here. I liked the little towns away from the hustle and bustle of NCR. The military presence, taxes and drafts always cast gloomy shadows, especially considering that those very things eventually destroyed the civilization. I wasn't one to mourn the Old World. Fuck those guys. Greed and stupidity grew there like fungus on brahmin shit. NCR was trying to recreate the same system of impenetrable bureaucracy, meaningless money and quote unquote democracy. What's the point of prosperity if it's locked behind a mountain of red tape and a term in the army for a pittance.

Cogs visibly relaxed. I could see him constantly glancing around, looking for threats, even as he was laughing at my shitty attempts at humor, but the sight of a settlement spelled safety. We could already hear the hum of a generator that powered the lights. We carefully made our way towards the gate, mindful of the uneven slopes. Some helpful sort put down some planks to act like a ladder, but judging by the state of it, that was probably pretty long ago, and the ladder now was as much a tripping hazard as the rocks. I could hear something shuffling in the distance behind us, and I didn't know whether it was a gecko, a feral ghoul, or an iguana. Anyway, it wasn't much of a threat. Otherwise, it would've attacked us by now.

The town welcomed us with lights and sounds of merriment coming out of a tall brick house labeled "Blue Collar Taphouse". It wasn't that late yet, and yet not many people were still working in the plantation that I knew was on the other side of the town. Adjacent to that were brahmin and bighorner coops. Some beasts wandered the streets, basking in attention that being a town's livelihood entailed. All the buildings, taphouse excluded, were humble one-storey family houses. Between them and the fields towered an old over-engineered pre-war factory that now housed all the local food processing plants, most important of all the brewery, the bakery, the candlestick makery and pretty much anything anybody wanted to put time and effort in. I'm sure that if I ever wanted to do something with my life other than shoot stuff for script, they'd gladly give me some room for a modest percentage. The atmosphere was... Healthy. These people dealt in craft food and drink, not in shitty sex and equally shitty chems. I think the mayor was still working in the tomato greenhouse instead of being the liaison between raider gangs and booze. It's amazing how differently two towns could feel, despite both of them being based on booze. Why did I ever think that staying and working in Angeltown was a good idea? Oh, yeah, that's because there weren't any chem dealers in Rusty Plains. That was the only thing the production of which they shunned here. I've been playing the five-more-minutes game for the last hour. I promised myself I'd take a huff before bed, but I could also probably wait for the next morning. I could go cold turkey without much trouble, and I have, but I liked jetting, and when the stress of having to eventually fight Firebird catches up to me, I'll be huffing and puffing like a damn wolf.

Naturally, the first place we visited was the saloon. Cacti quenched our thirst and hunger just fine, but a man needs his drink and finer cuisine to survive. Plus, if Meatball still ran the little poker lounge, that could be a good way to fix my financial situation a little. I was always pretty good at gambling, and, more importantly, it was fun, and I hadn't had the chance to play with decent folk in a while.

"Hey, Cogs. How are you with cards?" I asked him, as we found a table and sat down to give our legs some rest.

The people around us were having fun. A good crop, probably, or some other cause for celebration. Chances are, everyone we needed to talk to was already here. Good drink usually leads to good deals.

"Well, I'm... Decent, I suppose? I never really played much." Cogs looked around, drinking in the atmosphere. The place was good for his nerves too, it seemed. "Do they have that mutfruit stuff you told me about?" He muttered, glancing at the chalkboard over the bar, but failing to decipher all the different names and styles. Poor man.

"I'll go ask Meatball and get us something to eat. You guard our shit." I reluctantly got up, feeling sore muscles protest with every movement. Soon I'll know the embrace of a bed. "Do you have any caps on you?"

"About two hundred. Why?"

"Then you'll get the next round!" I grinned. I haven't been here for over a year. It's amazing how stupid I can be.

Meatball was this absolute olive-skinned hunk of a man behind the bar. He constantly fiddled with his goatee and his curious eyes twinkled at everyone nearby from under his bushy eyebrows. He leaned onto the counter with his muscular hairy arms far apart in a welcoming slant, and he lifted the heavy kegs almost effortlessly. There was always something cookin' near this good lookin', and that train of thought went... Point is, he was of Mediterranean descent, and he knew how to capitalize on it. Being the owner of _Blue Collar Taphouse_ put him in touch with anyone worth anything in this town, and that meant most anyone. Give Rusty Plains fifty years and they will become an independent metropolis with someone like Meatball at the heart of it, assuming NCR and Legion don't level the town first.

"Ah! Folly! Welcome back!" He smiled at me with his yellowing teeth. The only unspectacular part of him was the natural consequence of smoking like a chimney. I still liked him. No homo. "Long time! Why the hell didn't you visit?" His voice was raw and energetic, a perfect fit for this establishment. "Anyway, what can I do for you, old buddy?"

"Good evening, Meatball!" I beamed. "I'm on a business trip, unfortunately, so I won't stay for very long. I need to ask ya something, or a couple of somethings, but first, do you still have that mutfruit sour?"

"No can do, sorry. We're fresh out of mutfruit. But!" He hopped to a tap and poured me a taste of something light ruby. "We finally managed to get that Belgian yeast from _Midwest Artisan_!" I took a sip of the deep, slightly bitter and tart... Something. Something very tasty.

"What is this? Never tried anything like this before."

"That, my friend, is Trappist Quadrupel, or what we managed to do with the recipe. This is only our second batch, but it's selling like crazy! You're lucky you get to try that, it'll all be gone by next week! It's a bit on the strong side, so be careful." He chuckled. "You like it?"

"Hell yeah! Give me two of those. And, uh, something hot and tasty from the kitchen, don't care what. Surprise me."

That set me back a hundred and fifty caps, but the look on Cogs' face when he gulped the beer down was absolutely worth it. Not many people can appreciate how much better _actual_ beer can really be compared the pre-war garbage or raider swill.

"This is incredible," Cogs whispered. "Why have I never heard of this place? I want to see the factory!"

"I'm sure they'll let you if you ask nicely." I chuckled into my glass.

Soon enough a waiter brought us a slab of wood with assorted grilled vegetables and a large bowl of chili con carne. By the time we were done with the meal, we had quite a few refills of the frothy goodness. And... The conversation was revolving around whether or not ballistic weaponry was better than lasers... I think our opinions didn't quite align on that topic?

"Look. Look. Look look. Look. 'Stead of sittin' here an'... Bullshittin'!" I remember drawling. "We could jus' slide out an' I can prove ya wrong once an' for all."

"You're so -hic!- going to -hic!-" Cogs tried to say. I understood him well enough due to drunk telepathy.

I think we were ushered into a room when we went around the town looking for a shooting range with silverware, or robots, or something. We maybe also had a bit of wine? Or was it whiskey? I can't remember. I can remember Cogs shooting circles around me though. He was an amazing marksman with his laser even cross-eyed drunk. He couldn't shoot a normal gun to save his life, which doesn't make sense, if you really think about it. I also remember ranting for half an hour about that to... Someone who wasn't Cogs... I remember a woman being involved somehow. The only question is: what were we shooting at, exactly?

A great deal of worry for some reason. The rancid taste of jet in my mouth. My hand... Hurting from... Too much... Doodling? What the fuck is wrong with me that I can't remember why my hand hurt? I also remember... Shooting, but not at junk. I think there were people, but not like really people like I mean I think they were raiders or something and everybody knows that raiders aren't actually people, like not really though, am I right? Ugh I need to find my notebook but I don't remember where I left it and I don't remember why I even have it there's something about flies or some insects or other and I remember writing a giant "E" I think it was important and also I think they found us oh wait no nevermind anyway you ever wonder why energy weapons and ballistic weapons are so different to shoot like it stands to reason that if you shoot a gun and it recoils and you have to take that into account and also your heartbeat which admittedly I don't have much of anymore because I'm a ghoul oh hey did I ever tell you how I became a ghoul okay get this so I was running with the Khans and I think I was trying to rob someone or something like that look it doesn't matter the point is i stepped in some shit and it tried to bite my fucking face off and anyway I started turning and ran off look the point is my heart's pretty slow so it ain't a big deal for me to get these groups but what I don't get is how the fuck can't I shoot lasers they're like easy mode like guns for retards yeah whatever Cogs I don't care pshhh fucking nerd anyway did I ever tell you about that time I was all like ah screw you guys anyway look what hey what what WHAT oh never mind shiny come to papa HOW MUCH okay cool hey keep that for me anyway oh fuck me it's coming up it's coming up where's the bathroom I think I'm gonna oh never mind then anyway you ever been to Boston what a fucking hole they don't even have Brotherhood of Steel there like who cares no I never heard of him why oh okay cool but see thing is if he died before he wrote it how come his robots cook noodles that makes no sense he'd have to write it no I know the moo-moos are tasty fuck off man I know how to cook a moo-moo give me that no wait what oh fuck you too guys I so know how to cook Cogs knows that hey Cogs hey where are you man oh fuck you too then who are you dude anyway I think I left my notebook why are you so angry yeah I got the caps right here sure thing man oh shit the caps oh shit I left them oh shit where did I leave them **OH SHIT FIREBIRD IS GONNA KILL ME** never mind that's just a campfire oh sorry didn't mean to intrude hey there man where you been let's investigate ssssshush no shush I know what I'm doing yeah that's safe to drink who do you think I am dude come on I know you can dude no dude I don't look okay dude I mean you're nice and everything but it's weird and also I think oh fuck here it comes here it comes where's the bucket oh wait no never mind hey look I can shoot the hat off that motherfucker why are you so angry at me it's just a small graze see good as new you wanna fucking go bitch Cogs where are you OW oh shit I lost my shit I forgot what I lost fuck I need to find it fuck oh tasty jet cool thanks man who are you anyway oh yeah shit no duh sorry for shooting you in the head it's cool don't worry here I'll buy you a beer what the hell you know what cazador is uh-huh uh-huh shit fuck I forgot my write thing white paper thing I knew I should be writing it down there's no way I'll remember this tomorrow haha what where am I oh my look I'm flattered and everything but I don't date smoothskins oh okay hello Cogs anyway good luck you two I think I should do something well I did that and it was fun where did all my fucking caps go anyway come on just one more for the road I have to kill Master and save the human race pssshhhhh who cares about those smoothskin fuckers but you understand me oh fuck I think I lost my buddy have you seen my what what I don't remember tasty jet tasty jet TASTY I can cook better than that see I told you yeah buy me beers sure I'll cook more for you hey you wanna see who's a better shot pssshhhh easy money where did all my script go oh yeah also can we please take a moment and remember that hubscript is a thing why did everyone suddenly forget about Hub no the fuck I never met that retard fuck this guy what did he have against Unity oh come on he was just attacking whatever came at him oh come on it's fine I'm sorry I didn't mean it come on man I'm sorry she died mine died too I'm a fucking ghoul man come on do you think she'd be alive it's a harsh world I know how it feels man fuck me get me a tissue please you didn't see that anyway where am I really what

what

where

Cogs?

But oh fuck me

 **OH FUCK FIREBIRD IS GONNA FUCKING KILL ME OH MY GOD WHY DID I EVER GET IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS SHIT JESUS CHRIST I'M SO FUCKED WHAT STUPID FUCKING MORON LETS ME MAKE DECISIONS HOLY SHIT I'M DEAD I'M SO DEAD** oh tasty

Where are all my caps?

 _I don't remember jack_

I found myself lying in a bed with my head spinning thinking exactly that. I was very sleepy, but I didn't feel good enough to go to sleep. I had one boot on, and my poncho was wrapped over me all wrong. I had a feeling that by next morning we'll be very very capless, if not in debt to our eyeballs. Fucking typical.

"Look is all I'm saying is man the Chinese kinda y'know they had a point, y'know. Like, it really do be like that sometimes man y'know like I don't really y'know begrudge them for y'know what they did." Cogs was going on some vaguely political rant on the neighboring bed. "Like I'd blow the world up, y'know, why not, screw them, man, y'know. Y'know? Yeah y'know."

"Oh fuck me, how much did we drink tonight." I intended that as a question, but my mouth refused to cooperate. "Mister Cogs, I don't feel so good."

"Me neither." He hiccuped. "Hey, want to see something cool?"

Without waiting for my response he reached into his sleeve and started unwrapping his hand. Little by little the cloth straps fell onto the bed and revealed a shiny mechanical limb. He wiggled his silvery fingers at me with a dumb expression on his face.

"So that's why you weren't afraid of cactuseses!" I cried out in a huge Eureka-moment that tied all the subtle clues together nicely. Or at least I think it did. Cogs' mechanical limb was the second thing on the agenda at the moment.

Because that was when I scampered off to the bathroom and at long last violently emptied my stomach into a stained toilet and passed out for good.


End file.
